Shot In The Dark
by Annaelle
Summary: Short oneshot drabble based on the 3x05 Captain Swan spoiler pic. She was only human. There were only so many times she could tell herself that he meant nothing to her, that he was no more than a villain. The fact remained; he came back for her. He kept coming back. So she kissed him.


**So... Yeah.**

**I just saw the picture. **

**And I was about to start on a school assignment, open, empty document all ready to go, and then suddenly, this happened. ****A short drabble of what I think/hope/wish it would be. **

**This is unbeta'd and written in one go, so blame any and all mistakes on me, please. **

**I hope you enjoy. **

**Please, R&R!**

**Love, **

**Annaelle**

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**Shot In The Dark**

He was _so_ close.

She could barely breathe—she couldn't rationally think.

They'd just kissed.

He pulled her from the vines when she thought she was going to die out here, alone, without anyone giving a damn, and he had just jumped in and _saved_ her and she couldn't help herself—it was just too much. He abandoned his revenge… He offered her his ship, knowing perfectly well that he'd be going back to a place he never wished to return to… He'd held her when she cried because of Neal, and Henry and _everything_… And now this.

Saving her?

She was only human. There were only so many times she could tell herself that he meant nothing to her, that he was no more than a villain.

The fact remained; he came back for her.

He kept coming back.

So she'd kissed him. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting when she did kiss him, but the slow, tender, intimate, hell, even _innocent_ kiss they'd just shared was not it. She'd always known that someday, they'd clash and just both give in and have passionate sex all night long—but it wasn't supposed to make her _feel_ anything.

And this was just a kiss!

She took a deep, shaky breath, trying to convince her body to let go—to let her fingers uncurl from his leather jacket—but she just couldn't.

She hadn't felt this… This _real_, this peaceful since she ran into Neal in New York.

"Emma." Her name fell from his lips, and she couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down her spine at the way his accent curled around her name, drew it out and made it completely irresistible. He sounded awed—maybe as shook up as she was.

She knew this was big—that this signaled something neither one of them were ready for—that she should back away now, before they both got in too deep and got their hearts broken again. She wasn't sure about him, but she knew she couldn't survive another heartbreak.

Not from him.

She shivered a little when his hook brushed over the bare skin on her back, where her top had torn, and bit down on her lip harshly when she felt his fingers tighten in her hair for a long moment before his grip loosened, and his fingers slid down, over her temple, her cheekbones, her lips and her chin. She could feel his eyelashes flutter against her cheek as he blinked slowly—she could _feel_ his eyes on her—but she kept her own eyes firmly shut.

She couldn't do this.

She shouldn't do this.

The only thing she was supposed to be thinking about was her son—nothing should distract her from that goal, and she felt nauseating guilt turn over her stomach, a tear rolling down her cheek as she once again considered Pan's words.

She _was_ a horrible mother.

She wasn't the Savior—how could she be when she couldn't even save her own son without being distracted by a bloody infuriating pirate?

Yet still, she did not move.

She didn't loosen her grip on his collar, nor did she attempt to pull away, so his forehead wouldn't be leaning against hers, so their noses wouldn't be brushing, so she wouldn't be able to feel the warmth radiating from his—so she wouldn't feel so goddamn _affected_ by him.

"Emma," he repeated, softer than earlier, his fingers lingering on her chin, tilting her head up just a little—just enough so she could feel his breath wash over her lips once again.

"Open your eyes, love," he whispered, his voice still low and soft, as though he, too, was most unwilling to shatter this moment. She didn't respond, too afraid of what she would see in his eyes when she did look at him—she wasn't sure if she wanted to see the triumph in them; for it should be there. He'd gotten what he wanted all along, hadn't he?

He wanted her; he'd wanted her to care.

And she did.

God damn her, but she did.

She cared about him—she had from the start; there had been something that just drew her in; it was the whole reason she left him up on the beanstalk in the first place.

She didn't _want_ to trust him.

But she did trust him.

It might be a complete shot in the dark, but she really did.

"Swan," he chuckled, his voice a little stronger now, a little less breathless, "Look at me." She wasn't sure why she did listen to him this time—but she did. He was still far too close, and even more devilishly handsome up close. She forced herself not to look down at his lips, because she was sure that if she _would_, actually, look at his lips, she would lose all sense of self-preservation she had left and dive right back in, kissing him until she couldn't breathe anymore.

His eyes were bright, and filled with an emotion she couldn't quite identify—one she wasn't sure she wanted to identify.

"Hi," she breathed, nearly cursing herself for sounding so breathy and affected—swallowing thickly when she realized he had felt her breath on his lips as much as she had his earlier; his eyes fluttered closed for a long moment, before he opened them again, the darkened shade of blue making her tremble more than she cared to admit.

"Why?" The word was whispered so softly, she almost missed it—but she heard him, and she didn't need him to elaborate. For all his bravura, all his flirting and relentless hints that he wanted her and that he 'fancied' her, she knew he never truly did think she reciprocated any of his feelings; he never believed she would kiss him.

And that hurt.

It hurt to think, to realize, that she had gotten so good at hiding behind her walls, that the only man who ever managed to sneak past every single one of them, didn't even know it.

She _wanted_ to take a chance on him.

She wanted to know if he could, possibly, be her happy ending—she needed to know if she could have one; because even when Neal had been alive and back in her life, she hadn't believed she could get one—not with him.

That realization had made her feel sick—but it was the truth; she'd only told him she loved him because she needed him to hold on; Henry had only just found his father, and she didn't want him to lose him this quickly.

She'd said whatever she thought he needed to hear to hold on long enough.

Even if she didn't want to admit it to herself at first.

It was safer, to claim she loved a man who no longer lived, so she could hide behind it—so she could use it to keep Hook; Killian; out.

She didn't love Neal. Not anymore—too much had happened. Even if he turned up right now, she would be happy, and she would be relieved, but she wouldn't go back to him. She didn't trust him with her heart.

But she trusted Killian.

She trusted Killian Jones.

Not Captain Hook—and she couldn't believe it had taken her this long to see him.

She looked up into his beautiful, blue eyes, swallowing thickly at the many conflicting emotions she could see swirling through them. "Because I'm not done with you," she whispered, finally loosening her grip on his collar, sliding her fingers up to his hair, pulling him back down to her lips for a brief, sweet kiss. "I'll never be done with you," she added when he leaned away, his breath shaky, his eyes wide and hopeful. "And once we save Henry," she nodded, smiling lightly at him, "We'll figure this out. When we're leaving this hellhole behind, back on your ship, we'll figure it all out."

He smiled at her, brilliantly and beautifully—a smile, she decided, she could get used to seeing. A true, honest, loving smile spreading on his lips as he nodded, pressing a quick kiss to her nose as he replied, "Aye, love… We better get on with it then."

"Yeah," she nodded, running her fingers through his hair, unable to get over how _soft_ it was, "We should." They remained in that position for a moment longer before they pulled apart, both wincing at the sudden absence of warmth, but shrugging it off.

They had a mission to complete.

And, Emma thought with a smile, when Killian offered her his hand, she had absolutely no doubt in her mind…

Operation Henry was going to be a success.


End file.
